


Anders Has the Feels

by Whenever_the_Fancy_Takes_Me



Series: What to Do in the Event of a Body Snatcher [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 17:27:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5342384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whenever_the_Fancy_Takes_Me/pseuds/Whenever_the_Fancy_Takes_Me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whoops! Marian Hawke and her bumbling band of misfit toys are at it again. What the hell did they get into this time?<br/>Anders is still whiny btw<br/>mature for violence and at some point in the series, naughty things</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anders Has the Feels

**Author's Note:**

> So I was just exploring the recesses of my ill-used computer and stumbled across these gems I had written a while back. I honestly don't know if I'll pick them back up again, so keep that in mind when you read them, but they made me giggle so I thought I'd share. I'm cruel that way.  
> Enjoy!

Anders was sitting with his back against the wall resting and trying to rebuild his energy. It had been a very long day and patients were still coming through his doors. Right now, his assistants were helping the more minor cases, although he might as well be out there anyway, he wasn’t getting any rest.

His conversation with Hawke played over and over in his head, driving him mad.

_“Hawke, I hope that you consider me your friend.”_

_“Of course I do Anders, why the hell else would I deal with all of your crazy schemes?” Hawke kicked her feet onto the table and chuckled into her tankard, “If you weren’t my friend I’d tell you that finding your damned manifestos stuffed into all the books in my library is obnoxious beyond belief,” she raised her mug to him with a grin, “but you_ are _my friend, so I won’t.”_

_That made him smile, but only briefly, his stomach was tied up into knots and the sound of her laughter made his limbs feel heavy. He took a deep breath to steady himself, “I’m concerned for you Hawke…”_

_She raised an eyebrow, “You’re concerned_ now _? I can’t go three days without being attacked by some glory seeking nut job or, Maker forbid, dragons, and_ now _you’re concerned about me? Feeling the love Anders.”_

_He froze a little at the word “love,” but continued, “In all seriousness Hawke, you won’t mind if I’m frank with you for the moment?”_

_“I thought you were Anders.” She took a swig and grinned, gesturing for him to continue._

_“I’m worried about you.” He shifted uncomfortably, “I’ve noticed that you’ve been spending a lot of time at the elf’s mansion and I’m not the only one, I know Varric’s noticed as well…”_

_Hawke set her mug down, her jovial expression vanishing, and crossed her arms, staring through him with her inscrutable blue eyes. “Anders, Varric notices_ everything _. Is there a point to this or not?”_

_“You’re not safe near him. He’s little better than a wild dog and I’m afraid that he’ll hurt you during one of his fits of rage.” Seeing her lips curling into that unconscious snarl she wore when she was angry, he hurried on, “He doesn’t care about anyone and-_

_“Enough.” Hawke slammed her booted feet on the floor, the loud noise temporarily drawing the attention of everyone near them in the tavern. The look in her eyes was hard and her voice lacked its usual sarcastic flair, “Don’t ever talk about him that way, especially not around me.”_

_His stomach sank, “Hawke… do, do you… love… him?”_

_“Yes. I do. But I’m sure as hell not going to discuss this with you. I know how much you two hate each other.” She sighed and put her mug on the table along with a few coppers and stood. “Thanks for the pint, but if you’ll excuse me, my_ wild dog _and I have something important to do. Believe what you will about Fenris, but he needs my help.”_

_“He’s incapable of loving you back. At most he just won’t hate you as much as he does everyone else. Why would you waste yourself on someone like him?” Anger churned his stomach. Why couldn’t she just_ see _? Fenris was going to get her killed._

_Hawke tossed a condescending smirk at him, “If I’m wasting anything, it’s this time talking to you. At least with Fenris, I don’t have to worry that he’s lying. I don’t care if he feels the same way, he needs me and that’s all that matters.”_

_She turned and walked out, her back stiff._

Anders sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. That had been several weeks ago and Hawke hadn’t said more than six words to him since. Frustration and anger climbed up his throat, Justice’s way of voicing his disapproval with Anders’ obsession with the beautiful and deadly Marian Hawke.

To make matters worse, Anders knew that something had happened between Hawke and the elf. It was in the way she sometimes looked at him, her face devoid of all emotion. The only other time Anders ever saw her without a saucy glint in her eyes was when her mother had died. The way she looked at Fenris when his back was turned was heartbroken.

Exhaustion dragged at his limbs, but he stood and stretched anyway. With Hawke on his mind he wouldn’t sleep, five years of this torment had taught him as much.

“MAGE!”

The rough shout wiped away his melancholy in an instant and he felt his lip curl with disgust. What was Fenris doing here?

“ _Get out of my way_. Anders!”

There was a small scream from one of his assistants, Fenris had probably tossed her. Anders gritted his teeth and prepared to storm out of his back office to demand that he leave; only Fenris kicked the door down and strode in before he could move. Anders started to curse Fenris for being such an ass, but the look on Fenris’ face made him freeze. It was a look of pure terror. Fenris’ tattoos glowed blue against his pale sweaty face and his breath heaved in his chest.

“A-Anders,” Fenris faltered, “help her.” Only then did Anders see that Fenris was covered in blood and that, curled up impossibly small in his arms, was Hawke.

His exhaustion evaporated and horror overcame him, “Get her on the table. Now!”

He swept an arm across his desk, uncaring as the delicate glass instruments he used to craft potions shattered on the ground. He stepped out of the way, shucking his robe as Fenris tenderly laid Hawke on the table and his magic leapt to his hands.

Hawke was bleeding everywhere, from the corners of her eyes, her mouth, nose, and blood seeped from her ears down her neck. She was unconscious, but every muscle stood out with rigid definition against her skin.

“She stopped breathing.” Fenris swayed where he stood, “I-I didn’t know what to do. Please…”

Anders barely heard him. Every part of him was focused, desperate to keep her alive. He could barely feel her there; her body was failing faster than his magic could work. Suddenly, Hawke convulsed, her back arching off the table.

“Damnit! Fenris, help me get her armor off, I need to touch the skin over her heart.”

Anders slashed through the leather straps that held her armor together as Fenris tore it off. He caught his breath when he saw what was underneath. Spreading from a spot on her neck were thick black tendrils that pulsed beneath her skin, stretching insidiously towards her heart.

His magic flared as he fought whatever was killing her, but the most he could do was slow it. It felt as if he’d been leaning over the corpse stiff form of the love of his life for hours, his heart pounding in his chest, when he had only been working for about ten minutes.

“What the hell did you do to her, elf?”

Fenris looked up, despair etched onto his face, “We were ambushed. Tevinter slave hunters. She knew something was wrong and pushed me out of the way, but the attack wasn’t just for me, they were after us both.”

Hawke’s skin was cold beneath his palm. “Was this the work of magic?”

“No. It’s a paralytic, but it’s toxic to anyone without lyrium markings. She took a dart meant for me.” His rough voice cracked, “I don’t know what it’s made of. She’s dying.”

“Not while I have anything to say about it.”

Anders reached down deeper, pulling on his connection to Justice for more power. More and more magic poured into Hawke, Anders putting everything he had into keeping her alive. He could feel the end of his power nearing, like a wolf circling a wounded deer, but he only pushed harder.

Suddenly, Anders felt a slight give and the black lines of poison slowly began receding from her heart. It wasn’t nearly enough, but he had postponed her death at least. The very last of his magic dribbled from him, leaving him weaker than he had ever been. He leaned against the table for support, his head swimming, but he didn’t feel any relief. The poison was still in her blood, without the aid of magics he dared not use, Hawke would still die.

“There’s nothing more I can do.” Anders studied Hawke’s face, resentment and anger building in him, this was the elf’s fault. Hawke was dying because the elf had dragged her into his mess.

He turned. Fenris was sitting with his back against the wall and his face in his hands. “This is my fault,” he whispered, “if I had just gone back to Denarius…”

Anders snorted, his resentment and anger turning to disgust in the face of Fenris’ self-pity, “Yes, it _is_ your fault, I’m glad you understand that. You going back to Denarius would have saved us _all_ a headache.”

Fenris looked up with a snarl, “Do not toy with me mage. How is she?”

“Still dying.” Shame filled him for a split second, he couldn’t heal her completely, “The poison is tied to her blood. I’ve halted the effects, but it’s still coursing through her system.”

Fenris’ eyes deadened, “Then there’s nothing you can do. She’s going to die.”

Anders sighed, “There’s nothing more _I_ can do. Merril on the other hand…”

“Blood magic?” Fenris stood, hands clenched.

“Yes,” Anders growled, “ _blood magic_. Fenris, blood magic might be the only way to save her at this point. From what I gather, that poison was _made_ using blood magic. It will remain in her system until blood magic removes it.”

“Do it.”

He was so tired of Fenris refusing magic of all kinds. He was going to kill Hawke with his hatred. He threw his hands up, “Fine, let her die for the sake of your pride Fenris.”

Fenris reached out and grabbed him by his shirt, dragging him close. A thrill of genuine fear shot down Anders’ spine and he could feel Justice stirring again. All he could see was death and the white blue glow of lyrium.

Fenris’ voice was a growl. “I said, do it.”

 Anders stumbled as Fenris dropped him and turned away, shoulders hunched. He almost couldn’t believe what he had heard. _Fenris_ was asking him to call in a blood mage? It was mostly shock that had Anders moving to get one of his runners to send a message to Merril. Fenris was leaning over Hawke’s limp body, whispering something unintelligible and wiping the blood from her skin with a wet cloth. His stomach turned and he clenched his fists.

“Why are you so ready to accept blood magic? What’s with the change of heart?” Anders leaned against the wall, drained and feeling sick.

“I don’t accept it,” Fenris snapped, “but if it means she lives I will do anything. I haven’t had a _change_ of heart, she _is_ my heart.”

Anders froze and Fenris turned back to Hawke. It felt like all the air in the room was gone. Fenris loved her and he was willing to let go of his hatred to save her. Hawke’s words came back to him, _he needs me…_ and here he was, prepared to do anything to keep her. What had _he_ done? Lied to her about his past, kept her in the dark about his plans, fought her at every turn, hounded her over every hard decision she had ever made, and expected her to respect him when he couldn’t extend her the same courtesy. How many times had he called her a fool? Walked away from her even when she never walked away from him? Was it any surprise that she didn’t love him?

He stood there, heart pounding, watching his worst nightmare unfold in front of him and unable to do anything about it. Anders started to turn away, but he couldn’t bear to leave her, not like this, not with Fenris.

“Who ripped the door off its hinges?” Merril’s lilting voice was the only thing that gave away her presence in the doorway. “Fenris? Where’s Hawke?”

Fenris looked up, relief on his face, “She’s here Merril. She needs your help.”

“I dare say she needs your help too,” Merril placed her hand on Hawke’s forehead, “her blood needs to be cleaned and you’re the only one who can if I understood things correctly.”

“What do you mean?” Fenris leaned over Hawke slightly. Protectively.

Anders spoke, the words tasting like ash, “You said the lyrium in your skin makes this poison into a paralytic. It’s bound to her blood with blood magic, the only way to break it is to remove the tainted blood.”

“It means that you have to take her blood and she yours.” Merril shrugged, “It’s hard to explain, but it seems like this poison was never meant to wear off in its host.”

“So it will paralyze me forever…” Fenris brushed a hand through Hawke’s midnight black hair.

Merril pulled two chairs up to the table where Hawke was lying comatose. She began weaving her staff through the air, tendrils of green magic swirling from the tip to float around them like a veil. Anders watched Fenris stiffen and felt oddly satisfied at his fear, maybe he would decide to leave now that he knew he would have to submit himself to blood magic.

Merril set her staff gently next to Hawke, placing one of her hands upon it and turned to Fenris, “I’m not sure, but I think the poison bound itself to _her_ blood, so the effects it has on you should be temporary. Your body will continue to make its own blood and when hers has disappeared from your body, so will the poison. Right now, she needs the tainted blood removed and clean blood to help flush out the toxin.”

“What about the lyrium?” Anders glared at Fenris, “Too much of his blood will kill her as surely as the poison.”

Fenris looked at his hands as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do with them, turning them over so that his markings caught the light. “So either way,” he whispered, “she’s dead.”

“Not so.” Merril shot Anders a scathing look, knowing what he was doing, “the lyrium will help nullify the poisonous effects and if it becomes too much, it is fairly easy to remove from the blood.”

“Then do it.” Fenris sat in one of the chairs and offered Merril his arm.

She approached him cautiously, “You should know that this is not going to be a pleasant process. I’ve put her in a deep sleep so that she will not wake, but I can’t do the same to you or this will never work.”

Fenris’ eyes flashed, “Nothing is more painful than the thought of living without her. Do it.”

Merril nodded and Anders watched as the tell-tale red aura of blood magic lit her from the inside. Fenris’ breath came out in a hiss as the pain hit and his eyes tightened, but he didn’t look away from the woman on the table for a second. Anders did, however.

He looked away. Justice approved and a small burst of energy wiped away the dull ache of weariness from his muscles. He pulled away from the wall and began to walk out, ignoring the controlled breaths, the mingled glow of the blood magic and Fenris’ marks, and the cold chill burning in his chest. He could never have done for Hawke what Fenris was doing now, giving up everything he believed for her. Justice was right. It was time to refocus.

The door shut softly behind him.


End file.
